


this ain't truth or dare

by thisismydesignn



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Asexual Character, Exhibitionism, Heterosexual Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9073864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismydesignn
Summary: Betty and Archie take things a bit too far.
Jughead doesn't seem to mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of things I could say about this fic. Essentially: the world needed some porn involving Archie and Jughead...but without erasing Jughead's (a)sexuality. This also seems like a situation that would be more likely to involve Veronica, but I have certain headcanons about Betty being a very sexual person, just rarely finding opportunities to express that. Hence: this happened.
> 
> Characters are a mix of the current run of Archie comics and what little bit we've seen of Riverdale (one more month!).
> 
> Much of the inspiration for this fic and even some direct quotes are courtesy of the most wonderful [Sarah](http://twitter.com/SarahLister).
> 
> Title from SoMo's "Ride."

The basement lights are dim, the glow of the TV illuminating the trio on the couch: Betty curled up against Archie’s side, Jughead leaning forward to dig absentmindedly through the bowl of popcorn on the table. His gaze is focused on the screen even as his mind wanders, but Archie and Betty, well. They’re another story altogether.

Betty doesn’t even pretend to keep her eyes on the screen as her fingers dance over the back of Archie’s neck, drifting up to tug gently at his hair; she very carefully doesn’t glance over at Jughead, hesitating only a moment before leaning in to kiss Archie’s neck. Archie’s arm comes up to pull her closer, but otherwise he doesn’t react—not until she adds an edge of teeth, eliciting a sharp gasp that he quickly stifles.

Jughead still hasn’t looked away from the TV, but the smirk that plays over his lips indicates he’s anything but oblivious.

Archie’s gaze slips over to Jughead, struggling— _should we stop? Should I say something?—_ but Betty’s hand strokes low across his stomach, teasing at his belt, and he forgets himself entirely. He finds himself leaning down to meet her lips, a kiss that promises far more than the setting should— _should_ —allow.

Betty’s fingers trip lower as she kisses Archie back, palming him through his jeans. He’s torn between twisting away and arching closer, and Betty can’t quite swallow his moan.

Jughead does glance over at them this time, anything but subtle ( _turnabout is fair play_ ) as he meets Archie’s eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just raises an eyebrow and watches him stumble over an explanation, an apology, anything.

Betty saves him from himself.

“Jughead doesn’t mind—do you, J?” and Jughead’s only the slightest bit surprised to realize that Betty is right. She’s looking over her shoulder at him, lips curved in a half-smile; he follows her gaze as she turns back to Archie, taking in the flush in his cheeks, the bulge in his jeans. “He likes to see you happy,” Betty says, fingers trailing over the strip of exposed skin where Archie’s shirt has ridden up.  _Let me make you feel good_ hangs unspoken in the air between them, and Archie’s eyes fall shut as he tries to steady his breathing.

Jughead takes advantage of the pause to shift into a more comfortable position—the TV still visible out of the corner of his eye, but none of them are under any illusions here. He reaches for the remote only to lower the volume deliberately, speaking up at last as he sets it aside. “I wouldn’t change the channel,” he confirms, not even attempting to keep the amusement out of his voice. It’s consent, curiosity, wondering exactly how far they’ll go, wanting them to enjoy themselves, if this is what it takes.

Archie’s eyes are still on Jughead as he kisses Betty, this time; they slide shut after a moment, but there’s something there, something Jughead’s never had occasion to notice in his best friend. It’s not the steady determination he’s seen with a guitar or football in Archie’s hands, but something sharper, hungrier, and Jughead wonders if  _this_ is what’s got them all (Betty, Veronica, fucking  _Miss Grundy_ ) twisted up, unwilling to resist, unable to keep their hands or their hearts from him.

Jughead pushes it to the back of his mind and focuses on the scene unfolding before him, settling back to take in as much as he can at once. Betty’s hand is back between Archie’s legs, stroking teasingly before pulling back to unzip his jeans, and Archie would be lying if he said it weren’t a relief, the release, the slightest bit of room to breathe. (To breathe, to think, and he’s once more looking toward Jughead with an insatiable curiosity, watching as Jughead bites his lip and drops his gaze deliberately to Betty’s hand, Archie’s crotch, and Archie knows, he  _knows_ he’s putting it on, trying to drive Archie crazy, but the thing is—it’s working.)

“Betty,” Archie murmurs; can’t believe he’s daring to ask, but Betty twists her wrist and his voice catches on a gasp, hips stuttering, and oh, no, he can absolutely believe. He reaches down to cover her hand with his own, slowing her movements to keep himself away from the edge as he asks, “Can—can I fuck you?”

To her credit, Betty’s only startled for a moment, gaze slipping to Jughead and back again so fluidly Archie might almost have missed it if he weren’t so attuned to Jughead himself. Betty’s hand has stilled, her lips parted as she looks between them once more—searching, this time, appraising, and whatever it is she’s looking for, she seems to find. Eyes wide, she takes a breath and nods, and Archie’s almost glad for the loss of her touch—her assent alone is more than enough to test the limits of his self-control.

Betty leans back to lift her hips off the couch, watching Archie as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her underwear. She slides it out from under her skirt and down her legs, stepping out of it gracefully, and Archie still isn’t quite— _is this happening?_

_Have we crossed a line?_

_…does it matter?_

He starts to shimmy out of his own jeans, part of him worried if he waits too long, the moment will pass and Betty and Jughead will come to their senses; he’s got his jeans down to his ankles when Jughead finally speaks up. “Wait.”

Archie freezes, panicked— _of course this is too much, too far—Jughead didn’t ask for any of this, what the hell was I thinking_ —but after a moment that feels like an eternity of  _oh god please tell me I didn’t fuck up for good this time_ , he realizes that Jughead is  _considering_ him, head cocked to one side. “Leave them like that,” he says finally, nodding at Archie’s jeans; baffled but relieved, Archie acquiesces, settling back with his jeans and boxers still wrapped around his ankles.

Jughead wonders what to make of it, the fact that he likes this (Archie restrained, obedient)—he’s not entirely sure what to do with that information and neither are Archie and Betty, but he doesn’t offer so they don’t ask and this, Jughead thinks, is why he loves them the way he does, loves whatever the hell is happening here, the way it somehow all  _almost_  makes sense.

Betty and Archie are kissing once again, Betty grinding down as she straddles Archie’s hips. She pulls back to ask, “Do you have a—” and Archie nods, reaching down to fish a condom from his jeans pocket. Betty rolls her eyes just as Jughead mutters, “Boy scout,” and they exchange a look of fond exasperation. Betty takes the foil packet from Archie and tears it open, sliding the condom down his length with a practiced hand. Archie tips his head back, barely holding in a moan, and his eyes lock with Jughead’s as Betty lowers herself onto Archie’s cock.

He  _does_ moan this time, hands fitting to Betty’s hips as she rides him—slowly at first, biting back whimpers and moans of her own until Archie begins to thrust up into her and she can’t help herself, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, muffling the noises that rise up in the back of her throat.

They break apart to breathe and Archie’s gaze drifts back to Jughead, and he’s— _fuck,_ he’s palming himself through his jeans, and once again Archie knows it’s all for effect, the amused arch of his brow as he moans, too convincing, the way his hips press up to meet his own hand, eyes raking down their bodies so deliberately it almost feels like a caress. Archie feels his cheeks burning but can’t bring himself to look away. His arms wrap around Betty, pressing even deeper inside until her thighs are trembling, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips. “Little faster, Betts,” Archie murmurs, tone just this side of pleading, and Jughead watches with interest as she obliges and Archie falls apart.

Archie looks away as he comes, lips pressed to Betty’s throat in a silent moan; she clings to him through it, her body responding to the pressure of his fingers, his stuttering hips, the ghost of his breath across her skin.

When Archie looks back up, he’s still flushed a shade of red to rival his hair, but they’re long past the point of no return. His expression is torn between embarrassment and satisfaction, and it takes everything in Jughead’s power not to smirk outright. Still, the vague flash of—not disappointment, but something nearing it—that crosses Betty’s face catches his eye, and he can’t help but intervene. “Does the lady get a turn, Arch?”

It’s Archie’s turn to look taken aback, bemused for a just a moment before his fingers trace a path up Betty’s thighs, sending a shiver down her spine as he urges her off his lap. He slides out of her with a low noise, leaning up to kiss away her wince at the loss. After disposing of the condom quickly and tugging his boxers up, he helps maneuver Betty back onto the couch until she’s seated right at the edge. He knows this should be about Betty, only Betty, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Jughead as he sinks to his knees before her.

Betty covers her face, overwhelmed and uncertain but eager, letting herself be drawn back in by Archie’s touch against her skin, Jughead’s voice in her ear. “Don’t get shy on us now, Betty,” he urges, and as Betty lets her hands fall back to her sides she catches the look they exchange, impressively wicked, and feels heat flood her body as she lets Archie coax her knees apart.

Archie is still looking at Jughead until the moment he goes down on Betty, skirt bunched around her hips; one hand rests on her thigh, the other parting her folds as he licks into her, tongue flat against every bit of slick wet heat he can reach. Betty moans shamelessly above him, lifting her hips to meet his touch. Her hand in his hair guides him precisely where she needs, and there’s something about it—Betty’s assurance, Archie’s obedience—that Jughead never quite would have anticipated. Betty in particular knows what she wants, and Jughead feels a strange sense of pride as she tugs at a shock of red hair, hears Archie’s muffled gasp end on a moan that makes Betty’s back arch.

Archie’s tongue slips from Betty’s entrance up to her clit as his fingers push into her at just the right moment, and Jughead can tell she’s close. When Betty reaches out, hand on the couch between them, she’s not assuming, demanding—it’s a question, and Jughead finds he’s happy to answer it, to give her what she wants, wrap his fingers around hers and listen to her sigh, content. Her hand twists in his after a moment, shifting until her fingers are laced between his; he feels her grip tighten, and appreciates just how pretty she looks as she finally comes.

Betty’s limbs are trembling as she comes down, the noise that escapes her throat nothing short of a giggle. She’s dragging Archie up to her lips before he can do so much as wipe his mouth, though she doesn’t seem to mind, hands on either side of his face as she kisses him deeply. She’s released Jughead, and he finds himself looking toward the TV just for something to do, unsure of what comes next. There’s something oppressively intimate about the aftermath, and if there are rules for this sort of thing, none of them know—

—yet when he looks back at them, Archie’s grinning over the top of Betty’s head as she curls up against him once more, eyes shut, skirt tugged back down to her knees, looking absolutely blissed-out. “Hey, Betty?”

“Mmm?”

Archie’s smile doesn’t relent as he continues, “We made him forget about his popcorn.”

He sounds proud as hell and Betty’s laughing once more, burying her face against Archie’s chest as Jughead reaches for the bowl, shoveling popcorn into his mouth like he has a point to prove. He swallows down a handful, defiant as ever, watches them watch him fondly and he knows—whatever the hell just happened, whatever rules they’ve broken, lines they’ve crossed; hell, this is Riverdale, where the lines have been blurred for as long as he can remember—and they’re gonna be absolutely fine.


End file.
